Make A Wish
by GottaHavePride
Summary: The Make A Wish Foundation grants a dying girl her wish to meet Tokio Hotel. A sad ending, though.


**A/N: I actually love this one-shot. :D I love my writing style in it, and I love how it turned out. Amanda wants me to publish the letters Bill and Georgia wrote separately, in another story. I'm considering it.**

**Betafish'd by the lovely Amanda. 3**

**Please review! It makes me extremely happy to get feedback, good or bad, on my stories.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own, stalk, produce, manage, or otherwise call Tokio Hotel, including the sexy Kaulitz twins, mine.**

She lay in bed, pale as death, which was likely fitting considering the circumstances. She wore a rainbow beanie on her head, covering the fact that she had no hair. She was wearing a hospital gown, for that was where she was – a hospital, in a bed with bars on either side. Her chocolate brown eyes were currently closed, and there were shadows underneath them, betraying many sleepless nights and exhausting days that were filled with procedures, tests, and treatments. In her ears were pink ear buds, leading to a 160 gigabyte iPod – a gift for her most recent seventeenth birthday. The music was loud, because that was the only way she could fall asleep anymore – by drowning out the steady beep and hum of hospital machines. On the table beside her bed were several pictures – all included her, with various other people. Her with her family – her parents and her brother. Her with her friends – four other girls. Her with her dog and cat. All of them showed her with fairly long, curly hair. The shade was a mix between reddish brown and strawberry blond.

"Childhood leukemia. Or just plain leukemia, we're not sure how to classify it. It set in so late in childhood, that we're not sure we can call it that, but so early in life that we're not sure if it's a normal strain." The voice was lowered, almost a whisper, and came from outside the single-bed hospital room. After all, death deserved some sort of privacy.

"How long does she have?" Though the previous voice was male, this one was female, and cultured.

The doctor sighed. "Anywhere from a day to a year, now. It's hard to tell. She's a fighter, though." His gaze tracked to the sleeping form.

"Is she?"

"Yes. But even the toughest of them eventually lose hope. She's getting to that point. She used to be all smiles, cracking jokes with the nurses, writing furiously, reading when she wasn't writing. Now she just sleeps – when she can, which isn't often. And when she can't, she simply stares. Unless people are visiting. It's… sad, seeing the contrast, but she puts so much effort into looking hopeful when her parents and brother are here, or when her friends come to visit. It leaves her simply exhausted afterward – those are the times she sleeps decently. We've tried to talk her into limiting her visits, and relaxing when they do come, but she's adamant that they can't see her… how she really is. Which is almost hopeless. But occasionally, even when they're not here, there's something in her eye… it's then that she writes. She'll do short stories occasionally and let others read them, but there's one story that she's working on now that only two people get to read – her, and her best friend, Amanda. She's told me a little bit about it, and that's what led me to call you."

"Really? Why, what's the story about?"

"It's about that friend, Amanda, going to Germany. While she's there, she meets the two girls' favorite band – Tokio Hotel."

Now the lady smiled. "Aaaahhhhh. The Make a Wish Foundation specializes in celebrity meetings, did you know?"

The doctor nodded. "Yes, I did, actually. And so now you know. I want Georgia to meet her favorite band. I want her to meet Tokio Hotel, while she's still able to enjoy it."

"I'm sure we can arrange that. When can I talk to her about it?"

"She's sleeping now – let her. She'll wake up soon, though – she never sleeps for long periods of time."

As if signaled, the deep brown eyes that seemed almost sunken into the pale face fluttered open. Immediately they latched onto the pair outside of her room. Slowly she lifted her hands – which were slim, almost too bony, with needles taped into either one – and pulled out her ear buds, grabbing her iPod from her lap and turning it off. "Hey, doc." Her voice cracked. With a small sigh, she grabbed a Dixie cup off the table and took a sip of the water inside. "Hey, doc," she tried again, her voice clearer, louder, though still painfully soft and weak.

But the doctor and the woman, who was one of the organizers of the Make a Wish Foundation, were attuned to small, weak voices. They both turned, and smiled. "Hello, Georgia. How are you today?"

For a moment, emotion flickered across the colorless face. Contempt. And then it cleared. "I'm fine. You?"

"I'm doing good. Georgia, this is Sylvia. She's an organizer from the Make a Wish Foundation."

Georgia's sallow eyes tracked over to the neatly dressed woman. A blouse, a skirt. Something she would have never worn in her "previous life" – but something she wished she had a reason to wear now. "Hi. Nice to meet you."

The woman stepped forward, and with the practice of experience, ignored the state of the vein-ridden, bony, needle-covered hand that shook hers. "I'm glad to meet you, Georgia. Have you heard of the Make a Wish Foundation?"

Georgia nodded. "Yeah. They grant a wish to a kid that's – that's…" She trailed off, looking down and away. And then she looked up, her eyes fierce. An angry kind of acceptance. "To a kid that's dying."

The woman hesitated, and then nodded. "Yes. Georgia, we want to grant you a wish. Is there anything you want? Anything you want, more than anything else in the world?"

Those brown eyes, previously shining with a fierce kind of acceptance, clouded and shifted. "Yeah."

The woman – Sylvia – waited a beat. Then two. And finally, she spoke quietly. "What is it?"

Georgia looked up again. This time her eyes were shining with something else – a selfless kind of emotion. Love. "I want my family, my friends… everyone. I want them to go on without me. Especially… my mom…"

The lady looked at the doctor. There was something in her eyes now, something she didn't want Georgia to see before it cleared away. It was pity, and something else – admiration. Finally, she cleared her expression and turned back to the girl. "I understand that, Georgia. That's… something we cannot give. But… is there anything else?"

Georgia shrugged, and then winced. Most movement irritated her sore body. "Not really."

The woman looked from her to the doctor, and then back. "Your doctor told me you have a favorite band."

Finally, something besides anger or love shone in Georgia's eyes. A small smile tentatively tried to find its way across her face. The emotion in her eyes was hope. "Yeah… Their name is Tokio Hotel… My friend, Amanda," here she gestured to one of the girls in the photo, "got me into them. I love their music. They put out a new album last year – actually, just a few months ago. They're going on tour now. Actually, it should be ending pretty soon… I'm not sure, I haven't been on their website in… ages."

The lady smiled. "How would you like to meet them? Tokio Hotel?"

Georgia's small smile turned into a full grin. "I'd love that… Well… Under one condition."

The lady tilted her head. "What's that?"

"Amanda has to be here with me. She comes to visit me every Saturday, on her own. She, Rachel, and Toast – three girls in the photo with me – they all come together on Sunday, with my family. But Amanda comes on Saturday too."

The lady smiled. The girl's selflessness – it was hard to face, considering her condition. But it was admirable. "I'm sure we can make that work."

_One month later_

"So, what room are we headed to?" A very musical voice asked this question, and that voice came from a very tall man. Though some might debate over whether he was a man or not – currently, he was wearing jeans, with a tight, form-fitting t-shirt and a leather jacket over it. He was wearing leather boots that matched the jacket, and his hair was up in a faux-hawk. Possibly the most astonishing of all (though), he wore make-up – thick eyeliner, eye shadow, even a hint of mascara.

Beside him was his exact opposite in dress and overall appearance. Slightly shorter – maybe by a couple of inches – wearing a baggy t-shirt that hid his form, and baggy pants that were obviously (just barely) held up by a belt, with skater shoes, a headband, and a cap turned sideways that almost hid his dreads, were they not falling down his back. "Ummm, not sure. Find a nurse, maybe?"

A sigh came from a third person, who was slightly shorter than the other two by a few inches. His hair was blond and short, and he had it spiked slightly with what was likely just a small amount of gel. He was thickly set, but not in a bad way – it was muscle that gave him his solidity. His outfit didn't provoke a comment – a t-shirt, with khaki shorts that stopped right below his knee, and a comfortable, well-worn pair of skater shoes. "Guys, we were told what room she was in like three times." His voice was quiet, as if he were used to not quite being heard or noticed. And he wasn't, except by the fourth, and last man.

"Like you expect Bill to remember. He barely remembers his own lyrics half the time." This came from a man who was slightly taller than the third, almost even with the second person. "And as for Tom, I'm pretty sure they hold his notes up in front of the stage for him." He grinned a cocky grin at the first two guys, whom he was speaking of. His hair was long, straight, and brown, reaching past his shoulders in a soft-looking fall. He was lanky, and dressed the most "skater-esque", currently wearing skinny jeans, a tight t-shirt, and converse shoes.

"Hey!" The first two boys chorused. Bill, the girly-looking one with the faux-hawk, whirled and shoved at Georg, the one who had insulted him. Georg laughed, and shoved back, only to have Tom punch him in the shoulder. Georg whirled on him and popped him on the back of his corn-rowed head, and then they all busted out laughing when a nurse passed and glared.

Gustav, the quiet one, rolled his eyes. "Come on guys, seriously. We're in a _hospital._ The room number is 405, if you honestly can't remember, Bill. It's down that way." He began to lead the way, and eventually, after thumping one another, another couple of playful punches, and a shove, Georg, Tom, and Bill fell in behind him.

"It's so sad," Bill began, looking around. "All these sick kids. Like… They'll never grow old with anyone or anything. It makes me want to cry."

Tom rolled his eyes. His arms were crossed, and there was a tough look on his face, but inside he was affected as well. "Everything makes you want to cry, Bill."

Bill turned and glared at his twin. "Don't act so calloused, Tom. These kids are _sick._ You can at least be sympathetic, a little bit."

Tom rolled his eyes – and then slowly, he nodded, as if realizing how cold he was being. The quartet made their way to a door, and stopped in front of it. The walls were glass, and inside were two girls.

One of them was Georgia. She looked, if possible, even worse. Her eyes were not only sunken and shadowed, but red-rimmed, as if she had been crying. She was thin – nearly skin and bones, as if she couldn't find it in her to eat much anymore. Her bed was propped up, and she was sunk into it, as if she didn't have the energy to hold herself up. However, her eyes were bright, despite their tired-looking appearance, and there was a smile on her face. She was talking animatedly, to another girl who was sitting in a chair beside her.

This girl was heavyset, but obviously comfortable with it. Her hair was long, straight, and hung down to her waist, a light brown color. Her eyes were a light but clear green, and on her nose was a pair of glasses. She was grinning at Georgia. This was Amanda, one of Georgia's best friends, and she was alone with her, which meant it was Saturday.

Suddenly Georgia's eyes drifted to the glass walls. They widened, and her mouth dropped open. She turned to Amanda, and her mouth moved quickly as she spoke, excitement all but radiating from her. Amanda quickly turned, and then grinned. She stood up, crossed to the door, and opened it.

"Hey, guys. Nice to see you. Come on in."

The hospital had prepared – there were four other chairs in the room with Georgia. The band glanced at one another, shocked by the calm greeting they'd received. They'd expected a screaming fangirl. What they'd gotten was a calm fan – yes, obviously a fan – but a calm one.

Slowly they filed in, and after looking around, grabbed chairs and dragged them up to the bed. They watched as the sick girl slowly pushed herself up. She tried to hide it, closing off her features, but it was obvious that the effort caused her pain. The girl's friend sat back down, and shook her head.

"Georgia, you know you're not supposed to sit up on your own. Here, let me adjust the bed-"

"No!" Her voice was fierce, strong, and yet quiet and weak at the same time. Had the band known her before her sickness, they would have been shocked at the difference. She finally managed to prop herself up, and smiled at them all. There was a brightness to her expression that almost covered the pain she was experiencing. "Oh, wow. Uh… hi. I'm Georgia… Uhhh, I know who you are, of course." She grinned. Gustav happened to be studying Amanda, and he was confused at the look of shock that crossed her face. What he didn't know was that Georgia never really _grinned_ anymore. And then Amanda turned her head and met his gaze, and the shock was gone. She smiled at him. He returned the smile, shy, and looked back at Georgia.

"I have soooo many questions, you have no idea… I guess I'll start with… how long are you staying?"

The band glanced from one another. Though they didn't know the extent of Georgia's suffering, they'd been briefed – and they weren't stupid. Finally Bill looked to the girl and smiled. "How long can we stay?"

Georgia laughed. Again, Amanda was shocked, though this time her expression went unseen. Georgia never really laughed anymore – not a true laugh, which is what that had been. "Can you sleep in those chairs?" There was a teasing note in her voice.

The visit went well. The group talked. Georgia expressed her deepest wishes to go to a concert of theirs – with the unspoken ending of _before I die_, that everyone heard anyways. However, the reason that Tokio Hotel was visiting her couldn't be avoided forever. The laughter that was being shared among the group of six died down eventually.

There was silence. Bill was staring at Georgia, and she was staring back. Finally, he spoke. His voice was low – regretful. "How long do you have?"

Georgia smiled. It was a bitter smile, even though she tried to make it not be. "They don't know. They're giving me less than a year, though. It could be tomorrow… But definitely not longer than a year, they're saying now."

Bill nodded. He had long since left his chair. Georgia had scooted over on her bed, and he was sitting beside her, near her hip. Slowly, one of his long, slender hands found hers, and covered it, needle and all. She looked at it for a moment, then at him. And then she turned her hand over and laced their fingers together.

"Don't be sorry," she whispered. The band had averted their eyes. Amanda was watching, and then finally, she stood up. "Hey, guys. Let's go down to the cafeteria. Get Georgia Subway – she loves it – and us something. We'll bring you something back, Bill." And with that, the four of them – Amanda, Tom, Georg, and Gustav – filed out of the room.

Georgia watched them leave, while Bill watched her. Finally she turned her brown gaze back to his. "Our eyes match," she mused. He stared at her and then smiled.

"Yeah, they do."

Their eyes remained locked for several moments. Their hands remained clasped. And then Bill slid his hand out of hers. She flexed her fingers at the lost contact. He braced a hand on either side of her, and began to lean in. Georgia's eyes widened, and without thinking, she licked her lips. Bill leaned across the space, and slowly, gently, laid his lips on hers. He felt and heard her sigh. He didn't push her for anything more than the quiet kiss, and for several seconds it was just that – no parted lips. No tongue. Just a simple kiss. And then Bill pulled away, and leaned his forehead on hers. And sighed.

"It's not fair," he whispered.

"No, it's not," she replied, her voice even quieter than his.

Several seconds passed. And then Georgia spoke. "Why did you kiss me, Bill?" Death left no time for unsaid words.

Bill smiled, his eyes closed. "Because I wanted to."

There were a few moments of silence. "Okay."

The group returned, and Bill and Georgia held hands again, but nothing else happened. Finally, the nurses walked in. They told them that Tokio Hotel – and Amanda – had to leave. There were hugs between the band and Georgia, and between the band and Amanda. And then Amanda, Tom, Georg, and Gustav left Bill and Georgia alone.

They stared at each other. "Kiss me again, Bill."

He smiled at her. "Why?"

She laughed quietly. "Because I want you to."

He grinned. "Okay." He leaned in and slid his lips against hers. This time she parted her lips. There was a brief exploration of tongues. Sighs, murmurs. And then a cleared throat and a knock on the door. Regretfully, Bill pulled away. Georgia clung to him for the briefest of moments, then released him. They smiled at each other, full of understanding. Something had passed between them, something special. Bill lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed each finger, then released it. He stood up.

"Goodbye, Bill."

"Goodbye, Georgia."

_Eleven months later_

Letters had been exchanged. Mostly between Georgia and Bill, though she was always sure to say hi to the band in those letters, and she always passed on greetings from Amanda to all of them as well. Because of the distance between Texas and Germany, Bill and Georgia averaged a letter a month each – Georgia started writing at the end of May, the month they had come, and got a return letter from Bill in the middle of June, and sent out another letter two days later, and got one back at the end of the month – and so on – averaging about two weeks between letters.

In those letters, Georgia and Bill got to know each other. They told each other their fears, their hopes. Their wishes, their dreams. Their darkest secrets, and the most known facts about each other. They formed a bond, and though neither of them spoke of it, it was the kind of bond that you only find once in life. The other half of your heart.

Bill had sent a return letter a month ago – at the end of March. He hadn't gotten one back. But that didn't quite matter, because the date was April 29th. It was Georgia's 18th birthday, and he was going to surprise her with a visit.

Bill, Tom, Gustav, and Georg walked down the hallway. "Room 405," Bill chorused. He'd never forgotten the number since his first visit. He hurried down the hallway. No one had any clue that he and his band were coming to visit – it was to be a surprise, after all.

He reached the door, and peered through the glass wall, at the bed. In it lay a girl – but it wasn't Georgia. He faltered. "What…" He stared for a moment longer, and then turned to the nurse's desk. "Um, I'm looking for Georgia… She used to be in room 405?" His voice was rising. His mind was spinning. Behind him stood his band. They were glancing at one another, and something in their eyes said they had already guessed what the nurse would tell Bill, and were preparing.

The nurse didn't even have to check the chart. She sighed, looked at the room, then looked at Bill. "I'm sorry. Georgia passed away three weeks ago. Her funeral service is tomorrow."

Bill shook his head slowly. "No…" He turned, looking at his band mates. Tom stepped forward. "No."

And then he collapsed onto his older twin, crying. "No!" His sobs wracked his chest, exploded from him in quick bursts. Tears ran freely down his face, running his makeup. "She's… gone."

Tom murmured to him. Bill turned his face into his brother's neck, and though his words were muffled, Tom heard them. And understood.

"I loved her."


End file.
